Road Kill E-Book

Jan Coffey

• Herausgeber: Book Duo Creative
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 371

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

  Two decades of secrets, one killer on the loose, and a town haunted by its darkest sins—can they escape the past before it claims them all? Two decades ago, a sleepy New England town is torn apart by murder when a group of teens lure their unsuspecting victim to a lakeside beach. The prosecution's witness is the troubled fifteen-year-old Lacey Watkins, who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Haunted by the ghosts of her family's past, Lacey has returned to this place of scandal. With the help of her sister Terri, she is starting over. With nowhere left to run, Lacey is struggling to build a life…until her sister is found dead. When she discovers crime-scene photos of two murders mixed in with her work, Lacey suddenly finds herself at the center of a police investigation and the target of a killer's obsession. After twenty years with the New Haven Police Department, the ex-Detective Gavin MacFadyen is starting a new career as a private investigator. But when his ex-partner is killed in a suspicious 'hit-and-run', he is pulled back into that world of corrupt cops, child prostitution, gang murders, and crime bosses who litter the shore with headless corpses. Gavin has secrets of his own, but Lacey needs an ally, now more than ever…because the murderous fury of an avenger is about to destroy them both.

Leseprobe

ROAD KILL

Gavin MacFadyen Suspense Series

JAN COFFEY

withMAY MCGOLDRICK

Book Duo Creative

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Edition Note

Author’s Note

Preview of TRUST ME ONCE

About the Author

Also by May McGoldrick, Jan Coffey & Nik James

Thank you for reading this book. In the event that you appreciate Road Kill, please consider sharing the good word(s) by leaving a review, or connect with the authors.

Road Kill. Copyright © 2017 by Nikoo K. and James A. McGoldrick

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher: Book Duo Creative

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

CHAPTERONE

Northwest Connecticut

April 1997

Washing down the Xanax with a long swig of vodka, Lacey felt like from now on, every day would be a Saturday.

She tried to focus on the joint she’d dropped on her faded jeans. With an effort that almost made her laugh out loud, she finally trapped it between her fingers and lit it. The acrid smoke curled down her throat.

As Lacey stared into the blue and yellow flames licking the wood in the bonfire, figures took shape with sudden clarity. People. Trapped there in the fire. A man and a woman, screaming at each other. The man’s arm snapped out like the crack of a whip, striking the woman across the face. As she dropped to her knees, he kicked her in the stomach.

“No you don’t, you bastard.” Lacey reached into the flames to squash him. Her hand burned. She pulled back and stared at it. Her fingers were matchsticks—five of them.

Last week, she couldn’t find a lighter in the bathroom. Well, she’d never have to worry about that again. She spread them out against the dark sky.

A scream down by the beach sliced through the edge of her consciousness. The matchsticks hissed and disappeared, and her fingers returned. She sat bolt upright. The moon was gleaming off the waters of Sherman Pond.

A skin-and-bones girl sat across the way, plugged into her Walkman, on the other side of the fire. Lacey remembered her name was Liz. She was rocking to some tune, and everyone else had disappeared.

There was that scream again, muffled this time. Lacey tried to concentrate on the laughter coming from the beach. It would be so easy to zone out again.

That girl Stephanie must have gone with them.

Lacey was only here because she’d run into Michael Phoenix and his friends at the donut shop. Those guys were all seniors at the high school. Stephanie was only a sophomore, like Lacey. But Michael had promised some good shit if she’d go to the door at the nice house and ask for Stephanie. So, she’d done it. No big deal.

That seemed like an eon ago. Lacey looked back into the fire. There’d been an Easter wreath hanging beneath the fancy brass lantern beside Stephanie’s front door. Bunnies and colored eggs and purple flowers arranged in the woven branches. Her family never had anything like that. They’d never celebrated any Easter, or Thanksgiving, or Christmas. Holidays like that would mean there was something good in life. Lacey couldn’t even imagine it. Not in their house.

As soon as Stephanie climbed into the van, it’d been clear she was hot for Michael. They hadn’t even pulled away from the curb before she’d had her hands all over him.

The muffled cry from the beach again broke through the fog.

“Did you hear that?” Lacey looked across the fire at Liz.

Liz pulled her ear buds. “No.”

“Where is everybody? I heard something.”

“It’s nothing.”

Lacey’s stomach got queasy. She really didn’t know any of these kids. Since moving to the area in January to live with her sister and her grandfather, she hadn’t made any friends. These guys were older, and it was the first time anyone had taken her partying with them. Still, it was better than sneaking money out of her sister’s wallet and buying the stuff.

“Sounds like somebody’s in trouble.”

“Aren’t you from Chicago or someplace?”

“Cleveland.”

“Whatever,” Liz snapped. “Don’t they party there?”

“Yeah, but that⁠—”

“Just cool it. Your friend Stephanie knows what she’s doing.”

“She’s not my friend.”

“Better for you.”

“But is she down there with all the boys?”

“I said, cool it.” Liz threw her Walkman on the ground next to her. “Fuck. You really know how to ruin a good buzz.”

The cries and laughter grew louder as Lacey struggled to her feet. The sharp pain in her hip shot straight down her leg. She’d left her cane behind in the donut shop. She didn’t want it. Didn’t need it.

It sounded like the boys were chanting. But another voice was drowning out the others. Her father’s shouts. The crash of furniture. Her mother begging, pleading for him to stop. Lacey’s head was spinning. She tried to take a step but couldn’t get her bad leg to work. She almost staggered into the fire.

“Sit down,” Liz snapped. “It’s none of your fucking business.”

Lacey could hear her mother screaming. He was hitting her.

“No!”

Lacey lurched toward the beach, but the girl cut her off. Her face loomed over her in the dark.

“I said it’s none of your fucking business.”

Lacey felt the prickly heat of panic wash through her, and she scrambled away.

Silhouetted by the fire, Liz was watching her go. “Yeah, bitch. Just keep going.”

Lacey limped off, moving as quickly as she could through the dark woods. Pine branches whipped at her face and body. Missing a step, she went sprawling flat on her face. The smell of cold, damp earth filled her nose.

Lacey needed to get her mother out. She could see his crazed eyes, the rigid mask of rage stretched across his face. He wasn’t stopping. He couldn’t. Her mother was huddled against the wall by the stove. Next time he’d kill her, he screamed, going after her again. Lacey believed him.

Fear propelled her to her feet as she struggled against the pain in her hip and leg.

Lacey hobbled as fast as her feet would move. The cracked yellow walls of their kitchen vanished, replaced by darkness and the smell of night. Her breaths stuttered in her chest.

Suddenly, the trees thinned and she found herself standing at the edge of the lake. Across the way, a solitary red lantern shone at the end of a dock, reflecting a blur of deep crimson on the water.

The voices and laughter were clearer here—goading, encouraging, taunting—and on the beach she caught glimpses of Stephanie’s white skin writhing amidst the dark shapes. One figure was standing back, watching the others. His cigarette glowed in the dark.

“Stop, you bastards,” she shouted. “Let her go!”

Her cry did nothing. No one turned. The chants became louder. Lacey felt in her pocket for the cell phone and dialed.

“Hello?” Her sister Terri’s voice was cool, calm. Like the coo of a dove. She would know what to do. Terri was older, smarter. She had just been accepted into the police academy.

“It’s me. Lacey.” Her tongue was a wad of cotton in her mouth.

The guttural sounds from the beach tumbled across the water. There was something nasty in the tone. Sick. Satisfied.

Lacey saw the dark solitary figure step forward, joining the others.

“I need help,” she pleaded into the phone. “There’s a girl here. She’s⁠—”

A scream cut through the laughter…and then there was silence.

Deep, thick silence.

And then only the sound of the water lapping the rocks at her feet.

CHAPTERTWO

Sixteen Years Later

“We celebrate the life that never dies and the love that lives forever. We celebrate that Terri’s life with God is one without suffering or pain. It is an eternal life of joy and bliss.”

Gavin MacFadyen leaned against the heavy wallpaper in the reception room and let the words of the minister drift past him.

They’d been partners for a dog’s age. Hundreds of stakeouts. Scores of murder cases. He remembered every one. And he remembered how he used to kid her about the meticulous record-keeping she was fond of, the anal way she liked to organize their workload. Man, the endless arguments they used to have over nothing, just for the sake of arguing. He and Terri had been paired up for over ten years. He’d been on the force for ten years prior to that. That made him the senior partner, but he’d admit to anyone—except her—that she was better at the job than he was. She was tougher, meaner, more dedicated, and she made a habit of getting so deep into every case that it became personal.

Terri lived the life of a cop around the clock. That is, until her sister showed up at the end of this past summer. Still, the job never suffered. Terri was the best of the best. Thirty-eight years old. Too young to die. Way too young.

Some two hundred people, mostly dressed in uniform blues, crowded the funeral home halfway between New Haven and Westbury in a dead gray city straddling rusted train tracks and a murky brown river. Terri hadn’t lived here, didn’t work here, didn’t go to church here. But the younger sister had arranged for the service to be held here. She’d chosen a place as isolated and off-track as she was herself.

Gavin’s gaze focused on Lacey Watkins sitting in the front row. Chairs on either side of her sat empty. No friends. Nobody to hold her hand. The last one left of their family. Black knee-length skirt and black fitted shirt. Dark hair pulled into a tight ponytail. She just stared at a flower arrangement by the foot of the podium. No emotion showing. No tissues in hand to wipe away tears…real or pretend. From this angle he could see the mask of indifference that she wore like a second skin. He knew it didn’t mean she wasn’t feeling anything. It was just there. He’d seen the same expression on Terri’s face plenty of times. It was a give-nothing-away look. On Lacey, it made her look like a beautiful statue. Untouched. Cold.

“We celebrate Terri as one who has gone before us and who will greet us again.” There was a pause and a long moment of reflection before the speaker encouraged the crowd to repeat lines of prayers.

“Hey. Sorry, man.”

Gavin turned his head and acknowledged the squarely built man who edged in next to him. Luke Brandt was a detective at New Haven PD. Gavin had retired this past year from the force to start his own private investigation firm, but that didn’t stop him from staying in touch with the old crew.

“When did you get back?”

“Last night,” Gavin told him.

Terri had died in a hit and run accident in Westbury a week ago Saturday. Gavin had been in Las Vegas going over the security arrangements with the management company for some concerts coming up at Mohegan Sun. No one had called him about Terri’s death until he was back in Connecticut.

“When did you find out?”

“Last night.”

“That’s tough.” Brandt shook his head with a frown.

Gavin had never been close with Luke. They both played their cards close to the vest. That’s just the way they were built.

“How’s the case going? Any leads on the car and the driver?”

Luke shook his head. “The Chief could tell you more about what’s been done. But as far as I know, they’ve got nothing.”

The service ended. Gavin saw Lacey Watkins stand up as a line of people approached her. Her response wasn’t much different from before. A nod. A brief handshake. He saw her glance around once at the door, clearly impatient to get out.

“Sort of sad to lose Terri and have that one hit the jackpot.” The detective stared at Lacey.

“Jackpot?”

“Pension. Life insurance. Savings. Everybody knew how Terri was about socking it away. Gotta be a pretty good pile of cash. It doesn’t get better than that for a jailbird.”

“Back up. Terri always said her little sister was a troubled kid in the wrong place at the wrong time, and she still did three years for it. Not exactly a jailbird.” His flash of temper surprised him. Must have been for the sake of his old partner. Terri loved her sister. Gavin didn’t think he’d ever seen her as happy as this past summer when Lacey agreed to move back here.

“I’m just saying it’s a pretty sweet deal.”

Gavin was in no mood to play defense attorney. He shrugged and walked away. Brandt obviously had never lost a sister.

He wanted to meet Lacey, convey his condolences. Terri had been keeping the two of them at arm’s length. She’d even told him why. Too many one-night stands. She didn’t want to have to shoot him in the balls when he got close to Lacey and started something. Gavin had no doubt Terri would have done it too.

A gaggle of uniforms surrounded him. Everyone knew him. They wanted to know what he was up to. Many expressed condolences to him. Marg Botto, the last girlfriend of Terri’s that Gavin knew of, stopped him. Marg and Terri had parted ways last spring.

“It’s not right,” she said, holding it together. “I can’t believe she’s gone.”

Gavin patted Marg gently on the shoulder and cut through the crowd. By the time he worked his way through to Lacey’s seat, she was gone. But he saw the small purse left under the chair. He picked it up. Compact and light, the black case was easy to carry and obviously easier to forget. The main door to the hall was packed with people taking their time getting out. A side door was ajar, and Gavin caught a glimpse of fallen yellow leaves plastered to a cement walk.

He pushed open the door. A crowd was gathered in front of the building. The walkway snaked through some ornamental shrubbery and down to the parking lot behind the funeral home. Lacey was hurrying down the path. Limping.

He followed her. “Where are you going that’s so important?”

Today was about Terri and there were a lot of people still here to honor her memory. A life worth honoring. Terri had been so consumed by the idea of helping her sister, of rebuilding their family. She talked all the time about Lacey and how she’d never had a fair chance at life. And how it was a miracle that they were being given another opportunity.

Lacey reached the car and yanked unsuccessfully on the latch. When it wouldn’t budge, she banged on the roof of the car and her shoulders sagged. She hugged her middle, her head dropping onto her chest, her bluster crumbling before his eyes. Her body began to shake as she leaned onto the car.

“Shit.” He didn’t do well with women in tears. Uneasiness rushed through him. He felt like an intruder, watching her fall apart like this. And he was also an asshole for thinking that she didn’t care.

The tap on a horn made her jerk her head around. Gavin realized he was blocking a car from going by. Lacey’s gaze flicked over him, and she quickly turned away, brushing back tears.

He took his time approaching her. “Hi. You left this under your chair.”

“Thank you.” She reached out awkwardly and grabbed the purse, refusing to look at him.

“I was going to keep it, but I was afraid there might be a cop or two around.”

The look she sent him was worth the wisecrack. Her eyes were green and they glistened like emeralds.

It was impossible not to stare. She had the same body type and facial mold as her sister. But there were many differences. The slant of her dark green eyes. The full lower lip. The soft line of her jaw. The pale skin. The slender column of her throat. His gaze moved down to the rise and fall of her breasts under the fitted shirt. The sudden wave of lust rushing through him was unexpected. And uncalled for.

“Gavin MacFadyen,” he said, getting his head back into the moment. “I was Terri’s partner at NHPD.”

“Terri often…” Her husky voice faltered. “She often spoke of you.”

“I’m sorry about what happened,” he managed to say. “I was away. I didn’t know.”

She looked at the car. Gavin didn’t want her to go yet.

“Are you okay? Is there anything I can do?”

A slight shake of the head. A few more tears escaped. She had the keys in her hand.

Gavin dug deep for some way to delay her. “Can I take you out for a cup of coffee? A late breakfast? Can we go someplace and talk?”

She shook her head and the beep of the car lock told him his time was up.

He yanked one of his business cards out of his pocket and offered it to her. He was relieved when she took it. He held her hand for an extra beat, waiting until she met his gaze again. Her fingers were like ice.

“Just call me if you need anything.”

“Thank you.”

Gavin opened the car door for her and gawked as the black skirt hiked up to mid-thigh when she got behind the wheel. He felt like he was back in high school, but it didn’t matter. The buttons of her shirt strained, teasing him with a glimpse of a white flesh above a black bra.

She closed the door and started the car before he could come up with some other lame invitation.

There was no point in analyzing what had just happened. The woman was beautiful and vulnerable, and he was attracted to her. True, this was the first time they’d met, but he knew so much about Lacey that he felt he’d known her forever.

Heading back to his car, Gavin realized that he wasn’t the only one watching her drive away.

Across the parking lot under a tree, an old man in a gray raincoat and battered fishing hat was staring at Lacey’s silver Honda as it moved along the driveway to the street.

CHAPTERTHREE

Westbury, Connecticut

A Month Later

Lacey Watkins looked through the viewfinder of her Nikon and squeezed the shutter release several times. A breeze swept through the branches of the trees above them, stirring life in the autumn woods. A falling shower of red and yellow leaves offered an ideal background for the shots as she clicked away. The tawny, black-faced puppy and the three boys made their way like tightrope walkers along the top of the stone wall. Every few steps, the dog stopped and barked an invitation to the two adults moving along the ground parallel to them.

“These will be the most non-traditional holiday pictures we’ve sent out,” Michele, the young mother, said.

Lacey kept the camera up to her eye, watching and waiting.

She got several shots of the boys as they tried to jump hand-in-hand off the wall. Button-down shirts that had been crisp and white a couple hours earlier were now rumpled and dirty, the sleeves rolled up to their elbows. The boys’ khakis had grass stains on the knees. Six or seven posed pictures were all Lacey was able to get before the excited puppy was leaping from one lap to the other, managing to imprint his muddy paws on the clothes of the nine-year-old and the five-year-old twins. The happy grins on the three faces tugged at her heart strings and Lacey’s throat tightened. There were no pictures of her and Terri as children. What she had been left with was only what was imprinted in her mind.

She forced her thoughts to the afternoon ahead. She was booked with appointments into the evening and she’d spent far more time than she’d originally planned with this client.

“I got some shots you’re going to love.”

“When can I come see them?” Michele asked.

“We can schedule an appointment for tomorrow.” Lacey unzipped her bag and started packing up her equipment.

“Awesome.” Michele bent down in time to grab the puppy before he climbed into Lacey’s camera bag. “Should I call you later?”

“That would be great. You can call Amy to set up a time.” Hauling the heavy bag up onto her shoulder, Lacey glanced at her watch.

Amy, Lacey’s part-time help, worked at a local adult daycare facility on Wednesday mornings and didn’t get back until 1:00. Because Amy was blind, she was dependent on the van service which didn’t always run on time.

Michele attached a leash to the rambunctious puppy’s collar and walked with Lacey as they left the woods and started across a field toward their parked cars, the boys running behind them. “So, how’s business going?”

“It’s keeping me busy,” Lacey said.

“I guess that's a good thing, considering everything.” There was a polite pause. “I didn't know your sister personally, but I saw the article in the paper. It must be tough.”

Lacey wasn’t comfortable with wearing her sorrow on her sleeve or accepting sympathy of any kind. She’d learned those lessons early in life. Where she’d been, displaying emotion was a weakness. To admit vulnerability only made it easier for others to hurt her.

Lacey was saved from any more awkwardness by her cell phone. She dug into her pocket and answered it.

“I was late,” said Amy. “You’re late. And Jeannie Bond and her mom were early.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen. Tell them I picked up the proof for Jeannie’s wedding album this morning, so we can look at the finished book together. While they’re waiting, lay out the singles they thought they’d like prints of. It’s the folder on the center of my desk.”

A few minutes later, speeding along the country road, Lacey forced herself to take deep breaths to calm her emotions. Just the mention of Terri these days was enough to throw her off.

Five weeks. It would be just five weeks this coming Saturday. Terri had been killed in a hit-and-run while out on a morning jog. Gone. Just like that.

Only a couple of weeks prior to that, the two of them had been busy planning a future and rebuilding the family they'd been deprived of for most of their lives. It had been her sister's encouragement that had brought Lacey back to Connecticut to their grandfather's old house to make a go at stability. And it’d been because of Terri's financial support that she could buy Brett Orr's business.

She slammed on the brakes when the car in front of her suddenly slowed to a crawl on the narrow country lane. Autumn with its changing colors drew sightseers in droves to the rolling countryside, and Lacey arrived back at the house ten minutes later than she’d told Amy. She was relieved to find her client’s car still in the driveway.

Lacey found them looking at the overgrown garden out back. Apologizing deeply for the delay, she led them into the house.

She squeezed Amy’s shoulder as they passed the office area and headed for the small parlor beyond it.

A love seat, a straight back chair, and a coffee table filled the center of the room. The small sofa faced the fireplace and a flat-screen TV hung above it. Lacey had painted the walls a dark green, and the colonial windows had built-in shutters that could be closed to shut out the daylight.

Rather than taking over the building lease after buying Brett's Orr's business, Lacey had decided her grandfather’s old farm house would be perfect as a studio. And it was. Aside from providing a quaint and homey space to work with her clients, she’d saved a ton of money by moving her equipment here.

She settled the two on the loveseat.

“I haven't had a chance to look through the proofs this morning, but we can still make changes.” Lacey took the mock-up pages out of their plastic wrap and stacked them on the table before her clients.

She felt deep satisfaction as she heard Jeannie's mother gasp.

“Honey, you look beautiful. The wedding dress. The flowers.”

“Mom, you were there.”

“I know. But the whole day is a blur.” They turned to the next spread. “And I love these captions.”

“Lacey's idea,” Jeannie smiled. “When it's all put together, it will read like a book.”

Lacey grabbed her clipboard and sat back in her own chair, ready to jot down notes if necessary. In the age of Internet-based publishing, this kind of customer attention was quickly going away. Clients weren’t willing to pay for anything extra when they could do it cheaper themselves. Personal service and word of mouth was the only thing that could give her business a chance.

Jeannie’s mother pointed to a picture of her with her daughter. “You’re amazing, Lacey. You even make me look good.”

“It’s not me. You are beautiful.” Lacey was feeling good about how this job had turned out. This was the first big job she'd taken on since moving back to Connecticut, and Terri had even come along that day as her assistant, carrying the equipment bags and keeping her company. It seemed like ages ago.

Rolling the chair to the desk, Lacey fought the tightness in her chest. She didn’t want to show any hint of the grief that was smothering her. She and Terri had spent most of their lives apart, but it had been Terri's strength that kept the bond between them strong. She’d always been willing to go to any length to help Lacey, whether it was during the three years Lacey had been in prison or when she had been half way across the country, wandering from some godforsaken dot on the map to another, looking for purpose in a purposeless life.

“Wait.” Jeannie pointed to the center of a page. “That’s not my wedding.”

“My Lord, what is that?” the mother whispered in shock.

Lacey walked over to the table and stared at the proof.

The single, wide-angle shot showed a winding gravel road snaking through a grove of trees. Wet, autumn leaves lay scattered on the ground. Morning fog obscured the distance, and wisps of mist curled like claws around a fallen object.

She looked closer. It was a body.

The caption beneath the picture read, Road Kill.

CHAPTERFOUR

The County Dart League met every Wednesday night at six o’clock at the State Street Bar and Grill across from the new train station. Competition was fierce and drinks were cheap because of happy hour. Trash talk, predictably, was vicious.

Gavin had never been a regular in league play, but he'd subbed more than a few times over the years with the New Haven County police team. Even after leaving the force, they'd still kept his name on the subs roster. Today, Jake Allen had called him begging.

The semi-finals against the Middlesex County team had drawn a full house and the State Street Bar was packed. Even without practice, Gavin could hit the cork as well as any of them. Watching the other team throw, he realized tonight would be no different.

It’d been a while since he’d done anything like this. Anything that resembled having a good time. There was always his work. And then Terri’s accident had thrown him off kilter. A few times he’d contemplated calling Lacey Watkins but then talked himself out of it. His motivation was twisted. And no one else would do, unfortunately.

Jake was talking to Luke Brandt. They were looking up at the board.

Luke shot a glance at Gavin. “Okay, big boy. Step up to the hockey and show us if you still got it.”

Gavin pushed his beer to the side and stepped to the plank that marked the throw point. The Middlesex County team was huddled by the window, watching with feigned unconcern.

“One time, baby,” Jake murmured.

Gavin looked down at the black Hammer Head dart in his hand. Its tungsten barrel was cool between his fingers. He sighted and raised the dart, allowing nothing into his vision but the narrow strip of green between the wires on the board.

“Game shot,” he said in a low voice.

The cell phone vibrated in his pocket just as his hand flicked forward, but he didn’t let it affect his aim, the steel tip of the dart splitting the gleaming wires and sinking solidly into the green bristle surface.

He turned to the cheers and high-fives of his team as he pulled out his cell phone. “MacFadyen.”

Either the bar noise was too loud or the person on the other end was not talking. Running his own business with a handful of assistants who worked case by case required Gavin to be on-call twenty-four seven. He had an answering service for general questions and for potential business; his cell was only for existing clients.

“I’m looking for…” The voice was so faint that he could barely make out the words. Sounded like a child.

He tensed, feeling the sharp stab to an old wound. He motioned to Jake that he had to take the call, grabbed his jacket, and headed out to the sidewalk. It was already dark and the breeze coming off the harbor was cool. Because of the tournament, there was a line of cars parked all along the front of the bar. A half empty bus huffed and went past.

“Say that again,” he said into the phone. “I didn’t quite get it.”

“Terri Watkins. I’m looking for Terri.”

Gavin's spine stiffened and he gazed down the street at the red taillights of the bus. Terri's death had been in the papers and on all the local TV stations, but it was possible that someone who knew her could have missed it.

“I tried her cell phone, but it keeps going to her voicemail.”

“How did you get this number?”

“She gave it to me. Last time I saw her. That was a couple of months ago. She said if I can't get her…to call you. Said you'd know how to find her.”

Gavin wondered if this was the time to tell her that Terri was dead.

“I gotta get a message to her. It's really important. I’m in trouble.”

“Have you called the police?”

“I can't.” Panic edged into her tone. “She knows I can’t. That's why she gave me these other numbers. I gotta fuckin’ talk to her.”

It wasn't uncommon for an informant to trust the handler and not the system.

Gavin didn't know anything about the cases Terri was working on before the accident. A couple of phone calls and he could probably find out who had taken over her files.

“Give me your name and a number where someone can reach you.”

“Not someone! Terri.” The girl’s voice rose sharply. “Last time she picked me up she took me to the hospital. And she knows what they fuckin’ did to me. This time is worse.”

His sister Elsie’s face flashed before his eyes and pain seared his skull. He rubbed the back of his neck, not going there now.

“Hey, man. You there?”

Gavin knew what this was. Prostitution—especially involving young girls—drug trafficking, and the usual extortion rackets were all in a state of flux along the shoreline right now. With so much of the Mafia old guard dead, in prison, or retired to their Florida estates, the new muscle had been moving in for the past couple of decades. The Black and Latino gangs were just the most visible players. Asians and Eastern Europeans had been positioning themselves, as well. They didn’t care how young the girls were and this one had to be working in the trade.

But lately there was an even more brutal driver behind the street mopes, one who aimed at controlling all the pieces on the board. He was more ruthless than any of the old school players. Gavin knew very well what was terrifying this girl.

“Where are you? Do you need to get picked up?”

“Not me. My mother. And the twins.” The girl was crying. “Last night, I took off and didn't show up like they told me. And now I hear they’re going after my family. One fuckin’ time I mess up. My sisters are only seven. Just tell Terri she was right about everything. Tell her I got what she wanted before. This time, I'll give her what she needs. I already have their list, the one my boyfriend took. But she’s gotta help me. She’s gotta get them someplace safe.”

“Address. Give me an address.”

She blurted out a street address in the Newhallville section of the city. “They're staying with my aunt.”

“Your name?”

“Tell her Alisha.”

“Last name?”

“No. Just Alisha. Terri will know.”

“Can I have her call you at this number?”

“No way. I just lifted this fuckin’ phone, but I ain’t keeping it. Tell her to get the twins someplace safe and I'll call her. I promise. Please. I gotta go.”

The line went dead as the door of the bar opened and two women stepped out, lighting cigarettes. Gavin walked away from them and dialed the Newhallville police substation, telling the dispatcher to send a cruiser to the address. But as he hung up, he already knew that wasn't enough. The cops would look for a disturbance, ask a few questions, and if no one complained, they'd be out of there in a couple of minutes. Newhallville was a tough beat, and the uniforms had little time for hanging around, even on a Wednesday night.

Calling the captain on duty and asking who'd taken over Terri's cases wasn't a quick answer either. He'd already heard from the guys inside how bogged down everyone was with the caseloads. They’d probably split up her cases. New Haven just kept getting tougher.

The desperation in the girl's voice grabbed him. He'd left the force six months ago. The fact that Terri had given Alisha his number and not someone else's in the department was puzzling. But she was one of the very few people in the New Haven PD who knew about his sister’s murder. She knew he would help.

Jake shoved the door open. “Hey, you coming in? We’re up next.”

“I can’t. Something’s happening. I gotta run. Hold on to my darts. I’ll get them from you later.”

Gavin didn't wait for the verbal abuse that he knew would follow and made a beeline across the street to his car.

He had no business going there. He could have passed the message to Jake or Luke in the bar and let them check into it. Something in his gut, though, told him otherwise. Terri was a smart detective. In the years they worked together, he’d learned to read her moves, to respect her intelligence. He trusted her.

Ten minutes later, he was on the street of the address Alisha had given him. A black BMW sat double-parked in front of a triple-decker house. As he drew near, two men pushed their way through the door of the first-floor apartment and shut it behind them. The lights were on, but the blinds were down.

Glancing in the windows of the Beamer as he drove by, Gavin could make out at least one person in the car in addition to the driver. He didn’t slow down, but went to the end of the block and turned left before redialing the station house.

“Yeah, this is MacFadyen again. Same address. There’s a home invasion in progress. Two are inside and at least two outside in a black BMW.”

After relaying the license plate number, he hung up. Two cruisers were being dispatched, but it wasn't going to be fast enough. His only chance was to go in the back door, but that was risky here. There were more pit bulls than swing sets in the backyards of Newhallville.

Turning at the next corner, he parked next to a hydrant. From under his seat, he pulled out his Glock .22, loaded a clip, and slipped the weapon into the holster before clipping it on.

A moment later, he was cutting through the side yard of the house that backed up to the address. He ran along the wall of a garage at the rear of the property, then scaled a rusted chain-link fence.

The backyard was dark, except for a light streaming through a rip in the shade of a rear window. Going to the wall, Gavin pulled himself up by the sill and peered in. The bedroom was empty, but he could see bunk beds and girl’s clothing. Posters with teen pop stars adorned the walls.

Mounting the wooden steps to the back door, he drew his pistol and tried the knob. Locked. The old door had a piece of plywood tacked over a pane of broken glass. Prying it loose, he reached inside, unlatched the door, and stepped into the back hallway.

The sound of people crying came from the front of the apartment. One woman was pleading, but a male voice cut her off. No one was in the kitchen, and he continued down the dark hallway toward the front room.

“I’m only saying this one more fucking time,” the man threatened. “Where is she?”

“Please,” she begged. “Just let the girls go. Please, they're just bab⁠—”

The sound of the blow that silenced her drew terrified shrieks from the girls.

Gavin peered into the front room. A burly gangbanger was facing the woman, his back to Gavin. The two girls were huddled together at his feet. The woman who’d been struck was slumped in the center of the room, holding her bloodied face, another woman kneeling beside her.

A second thug was standing over them, holding a collapsible police baton in his left hand.

“Hand me that neena,” he said, holding out a hand to his partner. “I’m tired of looking at these old bitches.”

The front door swung open and another thug burst in.

“We just got a call, man. Heat coming. Grab them kids. Let's go!”

Looking past the girls, he spotted Gavin.

Gavin had no choice. There was no backing away.

Especially when the hood reached behind him and came up shooting.

Gavin fired back. He didn’t miss.

As the man went down, Gavin aimed at the other two. The burly gangster spun around to fire, but ended up sinking to the ground as Gavin nailed him in the shoulder. The other guy ran for the door.

Gavin moved to the window. Outside, the multicolored flashers of a cruiser lit up the block. The BMW took off, only to screech to a stop at the end of the street as a second cruiser cut it off.

Gavin kicked the guns away from the men who were down and glanced at the two women who were now huddled with the kids by the sofa.

A patrolman came up the front steps, gun drawn.

“Jonesy, it’s me. MacFadyen.”

“Came as quick as we could. Jeez, Mac, what a mess.”

Gavin stood by the door over the first man he'd shot, the blood pooling under the body.

“Ambulance?”

“On the way.”

“Do you know him?” Gavin asked.

“Never seen him before.”

Gavin crouched down to take the man's wallet out of his jeans pocket and flipped it open.

There, inside, was Terri's badge.

CHAPTERFIVE

Her last appointment of the day. Lacey smiled, nodded, took notes, said what needed to be said, that photo—and the sick caption—blazing in her mind.

She finally escorted the clients outside to their car and stood alone in the dark, watching the taillights disappear down the road. It was only then that she allowed the sick feeling clenching her stomach to gain the upper hand.

“No. It can't be.”

Her footing turned to quicksand. Hours of restraint gave way to complete collapse. Lacey crouched down, hugging her knees to her chest. Bile rose into her throat and she thought she was going to be sick. She closed her eyes, taking quick breaths. Her stomach churned, protested, but nothing, thank God, came up.

The photo. The country road. She hadn’t gone to the site of the accident. Had refused to even drive by it, but from the police description she knew that picture was the place where Terri's body had been discovered.

Some sick bastard had staged the reenactment to get at her. Tears ran down her cheeks, soaking into the dirt. Chills coursed through her limbs, sharpening the constant pain in her hip. She shivered violently, sitting there, exposed for an eon, as the coldness of the night seeped into her bones.

Finally, Lacey stood, took two deep breaths and brushed away the tears. She had to figure out where that picture came from, who had taken it. And how it had been inserted into the wedding album.

Pulling herself up the porch steps, she was glad that Amy was long gone.

The month after Lacey returned to Connecticut, Terri had rented Amy the apartment in the renovated barn at the far end of the property. They were neighbors and had become friends. Still, Lacey wasn't ready to talk to Amy about this. Not when she still had to wrap her own head around the reason someone would do it. Not when she still had to figure out a way to keep the raw pain of her sister’s death from clawing her to shreds.

She paused inside the door, then locked it before going to her office.

She’d uploaded the file for Jeannie's wedding book directly from her computer onto the publisher's website. Opening the directory now, she checked the folder and went through the thumbnails of wedding photos.

The image was there, just as it showed up in the album—which meant that the breach had been on her home computer.

Someone had been inside her home.

No. That was impossible. No one had touched her system. No one could have accessed her files. The only one working here was Amy, and she had her own special laptop. She couldn’t possibly have done it.

She opened the file on the publisher’s website. Paging to the photo, she stared at the caption. Road Kill.

Lacey sat back in her chair, fighting the grief ready to crash through her thin barrier of control.

The flashing lights on the modem caught her eye and it got her thinking. Was there a way to trace the intruder? She had a wireless network that could reach Amy’s place, and firewalls and virus protection that came with the initial installation. She knew enough about the entire set-up to do her job, but nothing more.

She went back to the files in search of the date that was associated with the photo. That was when she noticed the folder of the same name under her picture directory. Road Kill.

Lacey's hand shook as she opened a slideshow of the contents. More images.